


trivial

by julesmpm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, a little fluff, i hope we get some dialogue with these two, spoilers for 8x4, the dynamic duo is BACK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 20:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesmpm/pseuds/julesmpm
Summary: in which Arya and the Hound share ale and a conversation about a certain blacksmith.





	trivial

**Author's Note:**

> yep! still writing! still not editing! wahoo!

“Stupid.”

 

She raises her head from her food to look at him across the fire, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“What?”

 

He bites into the leg of meat he has clutched in his hand, tearing a piece off violently, and speaks again, this time with his mouth full.

 

“You heard me. Stupid.”

 

She rolls her eyes, focusses back down on her own meal, moves her glance back down to the fire in front of her.

 

How she ended up heading back to Kings Landing with the man she had left to die, only the gods know.

 

She can feel his eyes on her as she chews, notices that the smacking of his lips has stopped completely. She waits for a minute, to see if he’ll just go back to his chomping and muttering to himself like she remembers he likes to do.

 

He doesn’t.

 

“If there’s something you want to say,” She speaks to the fire, not to him. “there’s no use in keeping it to yourself if you’re going to keep looking at me like I’m an idiot.”

 

He snorts at that, and she thinks maybe _now_ he’ll revert back to his norm. But his eyes are still trained on her; she can feel them piercing through her forehead, sharper than any knife.

 

“If you weren’t an bloody idiot, I wouldn’t keep looking at you.”

 

“If it weren’t for this bloody idiot, your sorry arse would’ve been dead before you could get within Winterfell’s walls.” Her response is cold, and she takes another bite of her food sullenly.

 

It’s almost comical how similar they are now to when they had travelled together before.

 

There’s a beat of silence, with only the crackling of the fire as an exception, and then-

 

“You do know that smith wanted to bed you, right?”

 

 _Oh_.

 

It takes everything she has not to shatter at the mention of the man that turned out to know nothing about her at all.

 

But she’s not about to make a fool of herself in front of the fucking _Hound_ , so she doesn’t let her stature waver.

 

“Actually, it was me who wanted to bed him.” Her eyes are still trained on the fire, but it’s no longer a passive action. “And I did.”

 

“Aye.” He sounds unsurprised at this, and she hears him take another hearty bite of his meat. “And was it also you who wanted to lead him to the alter?”

 

 _Seven hells_.

 

She chokes on her bite, coughing violently until the piece of meat lodged in her throat flies spectacularly out of her mouth and into the fire itself. Eyes watering, she finally glances back at him, and this time it’s her gaze that’s throwing daggers, spitting venom, _glaring_.

 

He’s unbothered by it, of course. He’s just sitting there, single eyebrow raised, the shadows of the flames dancing across his face.

 

“How did you know about that?” He exhales shortly from his nose.

 

“The way he’s been looking at you since he arrived in Winterfell could’ve grown fucking pansies through the snow of the long winter.” He reaches over, pulls his flask out of the bag beside him, and takes a long swig before continuing. “Talked to him the night of the feast, too. He asked if I’d seen you. Sounded like he’d had some sort of plan. I figured the threat of imminent death really set a fire under his ass. The rest-” He pauses again, offering the flask out to Arya, and when she doesn’t take it, lifts the opening to his lips once more before screwing on the cap and placing it down. “-was _one lucky fucking guess_.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The word is too soft, too gentle, but she doesn’t really know how to respond at all.

 

The man across from her raises his eyebrows.

 

“So he was the one to ask, then?”

 

“I should’ve let that wight have you.” She spits in response, because she hates that he knows all this, hates that every time she thinks of _him_ something in her aches, longs, _hurts_. “Or better yet, I should’ve let that arrow take you down instead.”

 

“I’ll take it that I won’t be getting an invitation to _that_ happy day.” He reaches down for his ale once more, and when he looks back up her hand is open, waiting expectantly. Despite the fact that he had offered it to her moments previously, he grumbles as he passes her the flask. “You’d think the Bringer of the Dawn would have her own fucking drink.”

 

She takes a long sip, lets the alcohol slide slowly down her throat, letting herself feel the burn of it all the way down to her stomach.

 

“He wanted me to be his wife.”

 

The Hound shoots her a look.

 

“You might be shocked to hear that that’s often the goal of a bloody _proposal_.”

 

“I _know that_.” Her tone is vicious, and she takes a breath before continuing. “He wanted me to be his _lady_. He asked me to be the Lady of Storm’s End.” She takes another swig before handing it back across the pit; this one goes down like water.

 

The Hound takes back the drink and throws back his head, finishing the last of it. Whatever ale he has is stronger than what she’s used to; she can feel it in her head and her toes.

 

She’s waiting for his next remark, his next jab at her, another blow to leave bruises that will fade with the ones still littering her flesh.

 

But it doesn’t come.

 

Instead, they sit in silence, his eyes on the fire and her eyes on him, watching the smoke spiral upwards towards the stars.

 

“I’ve never wanted to be a lady.” It’s her who speaks next through the quiet night air, and her voice has gone soft again.

 

“I’ve never said that you did.” His response is more of a grunt than anything, but there’s something about the words that, in some strange way, brings comfort to surround the edge of her thoughts.

 

“I told Gendry that.” She continues, and she _hates_ the way that she feels talking about this, the way her throat begins to swell and it becomes harder to breathe and her eyes begin to itch. “I told him so many times, and he still asked me to be a lady.”

 

_Why couldn’t he have understood?_

 

Because there’s a part of her that _knows_ that if he had spoken differently, used the term _family_ and _home_ instead of _lady_ and _wife_ , she would’ve said yes.

 

The Hound looks at her again, this time with his eyebrows furrowed, and looks her right in the eyes to speak before moving back to his leg of meat.

 

“He’s just been re-baptized as a lord. It’s probably the only thing he knows about being a fucking lord. That he needs a lady.”

 

_I don’t know how to be lord of anything. I hardly know how to use a fork._

 

“If he needs a lady, he should’ve asked Sansa.” The words sting as they roll off of her tongue, and _she doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it she doesn’t mean it at all but it doesn’t make the words any less true_.

 

And now the Hound is staring at her again, with the same air of idiocy that brought about the entire conversation.

 

“He’s not in love with Sansa the way he’s head over bloody heels for you, you little twat.” The insult flies over her head, and she knows he never intended it to land. “Maybe he just wanted to try and woo you. Did a shit job of it, looks like.”

 

He’s right about that one.

 

“I just wish he knew that he didn’t need to be any more highborn or impressive for me to love him.”

 

They’re loaded words, she knows as soon as they escape her lips, and he audibly snorts.

 

“Like I said. Fucking stupid.”

 

And now, she can’t help but agree.

 

Fucking stupid indeed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for the Hound before, and I found it a little difficult to find his voice but SO much fun. I'm really interested to see what kind of dynamic him and Arya share in the last 2 episodes, and I'll also be surprised if there isn't any allusion to Gendry between them, especially since we got that little moment of the Hound and Gendry during the feast scene.
> 
> As always, reviews make me smile and motivate me to keep writing, so let me know what you think! Or even if you wanna discuss theories for the last 2 episodes, I'm all ears.
> 
> xox


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